When I started my LiA at UK legal charity Bail for Immigration Detainees (BID), I had only a surface-level understanding of immigration detention. I knew what the policy debates looked like from the outside, but what I didn’t know was how it felt to sit on the advice line each morning and hear, in real time, what “detention” means to the people living inside it. It also changed the way I think about my own future in legal practice. I worked as an Advice Line Caseworker, the first point of contact for people in detention who called BID between Monday and Thursday. I also spent Fridays on a long-term research task: updating BID’s Handbook on Bail, a self-help guide used by detainees representing themselves in court. The previous edition was from 2018, so my job was to review changes in case law and procedure and bring everything up to date. That work helped me understand the legal framework from the inside, and it also meant I was supporting clients using a resource I was actively helping to improve.

My induction made one thing clear: communication can be as powerful as legal knowledge. Working alongside qualified barristers, legal managers, and volunteers from a range of backgrounds, I learned not only how bail works in practice but how to explain it to someone who may be stressed, frightened, or speaking to me through an interpreter. In my SMART goals, I had set the intention to grow comfortable using legal terms and working in a legal environment. That happened quickly, partly because every call forced me to practise the craft of simplifying law while getting it right.  By my second week, I was completing full calls without relying heavily on colleagues. I remember the shift distinctly: one morning I caught myself explaining what a “surety” was to someone who had never heard the word before, translating the concept into practical guidance they could act on. That was the moment I realised something had clicked. 

The most challenging part of the placement was learning how to stay present and supportive when callers were angry, distressed, or distrustful. Some had finished prison sentences only to discover they were now detained indefinitely under immigration powers. Others had traumatic personal histories. Many felt invisible inside the system, and the advice line was one of the few spaces where they could speak freely to someone who would not judge them. At first, I struggled to separate their anger from my own feelings. Over time, I learned how to hold steady and respond calmly without becoming detached in a cold way. One call that stays with me was from someone furious at the idea of facing removal after years in the UK. The anger was directed at me for the first few minutes. But by slowing the conversation down and acknowledging his frustration, the tone shifted. That taught me that emotional regulation is part of the job, not an optional skill. It was also one of the main goals I set for myself, and it was the skill I felt changed me the most over the course of the internship.

The hardest moment of the placement came when a Colombian couple arrived at the office with their two small children. They were terrified: their landlord had been extorting them, threatening to report them for working illegally unless they paid extra rent. Since I was the only Spanish-speaking volunteer present, I spoke with them directly. Without the buffer of a phone line, the fear was palpable. For the first time, I had to deliver difficult news face-to-face: BID could not help with their case, which involved exploitation and employment issues outside BID’s remit. Signposting them elsewhere felt inadequate given what they were facing. That encounter forced me to confront the limits of capacity and mandate in NGO work. It also reminded me that leadership sometimes means being honest about what you cannot do, while still treating people with dignity. 

Later in the placement, I spent a day in BID’s asylum accommodation support team. Unlike the crisis-driven rhythm of the advice line, this work revolved around preventing someone from falling into destitution. We drafted urgent representations for a client at risk of losing his Section 4 housing. It was my first exposure to the intricacies of accommodation eligibility, evidential thresholds, and the interplay between immigration and housing law. Shadowing this team revealed a different style of legal problem-solving: slower, more document-heavy, more strategic. It was a useful contrast to my role in the DIY bail team.

My final week took an unexpected turn. Following the Tommy Robinson protests and a hostile media article, BID had to close the office for safety reasons. Seeing the team respond with calm practicality made me appreciate how NGOs operate under constant political pressure. Immigration work is not just emotionally heavy for clients. It can expose staff and volunteers to real external hostility. 

Across the internship, I became more confident in three areas I had set as goals: using legal language accurately, staying steady in emotionally charged situations, and explaining complex processes clearly to people in vulnerable positions. These were not abstract skills. They became habits through repetition: hour after hour on the advice line, case note after case note, edit after edit to the handbook. Most importantly, I learned that the work of defending liberty is built on thousands of small acts: patient explanations, careful questioning, rewriting a paragraph so a detainee can understand it, listening properly even when you feel tired. These moments shape whether someone feels empowered or ignored, supported or dismissed.